I am nothing but a spoilt pissy little boy at heart.

The kind of things I do and say to you,
Cannot be love at all.
Hardly.

I wish I was dead.
Long ago.

I used to call you up,
Just to tell you that I love you.

Nowadays our conversations,
Are laced with sarcasm,
And lined with barbed wire.

I know,
It's all my fault.

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by emotions.

Your tears;
They fall on my face,
Salty they taste -
Contact of this kind I can only dream about.